All the Little Things
by Pipe Fox
Summary: A gaggle of Mimi and Yamato vignettes, or short little feelgood stories lined up for your enjoyment. Dozo, enjoy.
1. Yamato's Eyes

Yamato's Eyes

            "Yamato…"  Mimi stared at her own reflection, twists of wavy brown hair staring back.  "What color are my eyes?"

            "Brown."  Yamato replied lazily.  He held the pages of his book between fingers, glancing casually at its contents.  "This lemon meringue recipe sounds dry."

            "Not as dry as your sense of humor."  Mimi quipped, shifting her gaze to meet his backwards form in glass.

            "Touché."  She could almost feel him smiling, "_And_ vain."

            "Yama-kun…"  She whined, pulling her hair back then letting it fall over her shoulders again, "would it hurt to be more specific?"  He tipped his head backwards, lying across the couch.  Blonde hair falling out of his eyes.  Staring.  Pondering.  One minute.  Two.

            "Come closer my child."  The invitation was cute and, somehow, sarcastic.  Mimi pried herself from the mirror and around the back of the sofa.  Taking a place before him she swept her hair off her shoulder and met his eyes.

            The really breathtaking thing about him was his eyes –Mimi had always admired them.  She wondered of she'd ever said.  In the days of the Digital World they had never been close.  More like well-known acquaintances who defied death together.  His eyes had always been cold in a way, somehow distant.  And strangely inspiring, as well.  

Those same eyes she stared into at that moment were no longer cold nor distant.  They were warm summer rivers with cool stones beds.  Somehow familiar each time, and yet…different from the last minute.  They never lost the inspiration.

            Yamato parted his lips to speak,

            "You have…"  His lukewarm hands rested on her face, "the most edible eyes I have ever seen."

Then something curious happened.

            He brought her face forward and kissed her eyelash.  Such a grace to the gesture Mimi never thought possible before.  Her thoughts filled with feathers settling weightlessly on a breeze.

            "Caramel." He murmured, fingers gently brushing through her hair.  "Like caramel."

            "Yamato…"

Mimi took a deep breath and stood back.

            She wanted to tell him of rivers running in his gaze –about the past.  When they first met.  Or farther, when they might have seen each other at the same school.  All the things she could see.  She wanted to praise him for his beauty and strength as he praised her subtly every day.  But the words were stubborn, and wouldn't give in.

            She blurted, "Do want to know what color I think your eyes are?"

All the while reprimanding herself for her clumsiness.

But Yamato didn't seem to notice.  The sensitive, tender look in his eyes was fading back into their secret hideaway.  Flickering.  Disappeared.

            "You already told me, Mimi-san."  She watched the flipping titles of his book –chocolate fudge, vanilla frosting…

  
Caramel.

She shivered inwardly.

            "You told me when you said my name, just then."

Disclaimer: All characters are owned by Bandai and Toei Animation.  Artemis owns nothing. -.-;;


	2. On Sleeping Together

On Sleeping Together

            Yamato thought it was funny in the way he could have the most engaging thoughts when watching someone sleep.  Currently, he watched Mimi dozing beside him, halfway covered in satin sheets –she was innocently breathing with her arms curled around her face, dark eyelashes peeping above her right shoulder's bicep, glorious mane of golden brown hair fluttering lightly across her back and shoulders.  Her fairness, lying stomach down in the breaking sunlight, was breathtaking.  So charming that he willed himself to stir her slightly, resting his arm around the small of her back, where she curled contentedly into him and stilled once more.

            He thought about last night, and the many nights before –they had always been memorable, though the fine details of love were obscure between the first kiss and waking up to watch her, like this.  The unbridled passion the night before contained had always left him lazy with serene memories afterwards; the color of her lips, perhaps, or the smell of her neck and other poetic nonsense of sorts.  This day in particular he recalled the gentle curve between her waist to her hips, and the soft, smooth quality of her skin.  It made him smile –he entwined his fingers with the tips of her hair, amusing himself by kissing the honey-colored curls before letting them fall neatly back into place.

            Mimi sighed then, and one eye moved from its cover of eyelashes into the early sun.

            "Yama…" She whispered, her muscles tensing into a stretch, then relaxing again, "You're awake."

            "Did you sleep well?"  He settled on moving his mouth over her forehead, still toying with her hair.

She smiled.

            "Of course I did.  You're so warm."  Something she managed to say every morning.  Then she yawned, a touch like a kitten, and curled into his embrace.  "Can we make _kayu_ for breakfast?" She murmured.

  
Yamato replied,

            "Anything."  He reluctantly shifted towards the edge of the bed, but found that Mimi's arms were unwilling to release him just yet.

            "Stay." She whispered idly, "Let's sleep some more."

He knew that, in the morning, there was nothing she could say that he wouldn't obey.  He crawled closer, folding himself around her so that he could hear the cool thump of her pulse.

            "Yama?"  
            "Mm?"

            "Why do you always wake up early?"  He nuzzled her hair slightly, breathing in its clean scent.  "Because I hate taking my eyes off you, even to sleep."

She giggled, its soft echo muffled by his skin.

            "Yama?"

            "I thought you wanted to sleep."  He laughed playfully.  Mimi opened one eye defiantly, then chose to ignore the comment and spoke,

            "Do you like waking up, like this?"

            "Like what" He murmured.

            "This.  Together.  Do you like sleeping together?"

Yamato didn't answer.  Mimi asked,

            "Yama?"

            "Always."  She looked into his eyes fully then, a childlike curiosity flickering in her consciousness.

            "Why did it take you so long to reply?"

And he shrugged and said,

            "I didn't want to answer too quickly."

            There was silence, then she spoke.

            "I love you, Yamato."  Her words were sleepy, like a little girl whispering to her stuffed animals, "You make it okay.  You're so warm."

            Yamato didn't speak, opting to rather embrace her than act on the sudden leap his heart gave at the words.  He kissed her forehead again, gracefully, and in the short, comfortable silence.

            "Do you know what else I love?"  He shook his head, laughing because he knew they'd never go back to sleep now.  Mimi yawned swiftly, placing a kiss on his chest with a lazy smile.

            "_Kayu_ in the morning…" She yawned again, "…makes me warm inside, I think…"

_Kayu_ is a soft, porridge-like dish made that can be made from leftover rice.  When I spend the night over my friend's house, we sometimes eat it in the morning.  It's pretty good. ^__^

A/N: Please don't ask why I finished on this tangent.  It's a long story. -.-;;


	3. Dream Life

Dream Life

            "It's probably a summer shower." Yamato muttered, peering out shyly from beneath the veranda, "It'll be over soon."

Mimi pulled her knees to her chest, staring into the gray-blue sky, torrents of rain sweeping through the trees.

            "Raining in July…"  Her voice seemed very introspective, "Like a dream."

Yamato, also, observed the movement of clouds, passing shadows and passing light, dancing through the near-desolation of the park.

            "Dream…" He murmured, offering her a sideways glance.

            "And now," she pointed to a small bridge arched over a lily pond, "a gray-eyed geisha in a white kimono will pause beneath her umbrella…"

  
Mimi's finger trailed the dream-geisha's path across the bridge, Yamato following the implied direction.

            "That's some world you live in, Tachikawa."  He grinned.

The dazed expression in her eyes faded, replaced quickly withering look. 

            "Don't be mean."

Yamato said,

            "It's nice though."  He tilted back, speaking to the veranda's ceiling, and beyond it, the clouds and sky.  "A gray-eyed geisha poised on a bridge."  His eyes flickered; a serene, curious blue strewn with delight, "But why is she out in the rain?"

            "She's looking for her love." Mimi stated, matter-of-factly.  "They were supposed to be married this afternoon."

            "Eh?"  He looked amused.

            "Yes.  He went to buy a bouquet of her favorite flowers, but had not yet returned.  So she slipped out to look for him."

Neither said a word.  Then softly, Mimi broke the silence.

            "Listen.  She's calling to him."

            "Taro-san…Taro-san…" hummed Yamato.  Mimi grinned, and in seeing her smile, something troubled and carefree all at once rose to his lips.

            "Tachikawa," said he, "are you happy?"

Despite her silence, surprise scattered her face.  Yamato wet his mouth, hesitated, then continued.

            "Would you continue to live like this, or would you live in a dream?  You know…a dream life, where all feelings, happiness and love, are perfect?"

He paused, thinking.

"But despite its perfection, you would always be aware that you could wake up at any moment, knowing that the world beyond dreaming would fill you with terrible sadness."

  
Once more, silence assumed its place between them.  Her face had turned into a thoughtful mask and could not be deciphered.  Yamato wondered what his question had produced; feeling as though he had made her think of something unpleasant, he opened his mouth to apologize.  But Mimi answered then, distracting his thoughts.

            "I would continue to live like this, I think." Yamato, now, wore the surprised expression. "Dreams give me something to hope for.  If I lived in a world made of a dream, in perfect happiness and love, there would be nothing to hope or wish for at all.  And a world without hopes and dreams…"  

She hugged her knees closer, "A world without those would be the most terrible sadness."

Something stirred inside of him.

"Tachikawa," he looked at her, and his voice was soft, "sometimes I wonder…what you're looking for…" But Mimi's eyes flashed suddenly, and she examined a place beyond him.

            "Did you see that?"  

She leapt into the rain, once falling and now pouring down, racing towards the bridge.  Yamato followed after, vanity forgotten, and the feel of rain on his hair and eyes.  By now, Mimi stared out from over the small bridge, squinting as her fingers embraced the rail.

            "What is it?"

            "Taro, the geisha's love." She whispered, water dousing her and she not caring.

            "Did the geisha see him?"  Mimi leaned forward, biting her lip.

            "I don't think so," she whispered, "not at first.  But maybe, in all the time she was wishing to see him, he was standing beside her, all along."

She watched him from her corner eye, dark hair draped upon shoulders her like exquisite silk.  Her cheeks were red.  

It was probably the rain, he thought.

            And quite suddenly, her words reverberated in his mind.

A world without hopes and dreams…

Upon the rail, Yamato leaned, his senses dull as though a trance had fallen from the sky above in effort to consume him.  From the same sky, the rain still fell, and storm clouds raced through lush July.  As though the world was just a dream.  Just some wondrous dream.

In the corner of his eye, two figures swiftly fled the rain.  Maybe he had only wished to see their flight.

Yes, he thought.

            It was just my imagination.

Disclaimer: All characters associated with Digimon are property of Toei Animation (a.e. not me).  The reference to the gray-eyed geisha is from the acclaimed novel, Memoirs of a Geisha, by Arthur Golden.


	4. At the End of the Rainbow

At the End of the Rainbow

            "A week of neglect," Mimi quipped, half playful, half irritable, "and you make it up to me, on my birthday, by blindfolding me?"

She heard Yamato tut, drumming his fingers lightly upon the steering wheel.

            "I bought the dress you're wearing." He murmured knowingly, and she sighed, but half-heartedly, and more at having lost their argument than being ungrateful.  She had liked the dress –she adored the broad, rose-colored trumpet skirt with its ribbon edges.  Her fingers smoothed over the silky fabric, and she slunk into her thoughts about Yamato and her birthday.

            He had never been conventional with birthdays, and she kind of hoped he would maintain a fairly casual affair as the real party would start tomorrow evening.  Judging from the dress, she assumed they might go dancing.

She sighed, involuntarily fingering the edges of her hair.

"Don't be so impatient." She felt his lukewarm fingers brush across her arm lightly, before returning to the wheel.  "I…I thought you liked the dress…and the roses…"

He sounded hurt to her trained ear, and guilt swept around her.

            "I do, Yamato!" She protested sincerely, "They're wonderful!"

            "Are you…"

            "No." Mimi stated firmly, rolling her eyes under the blindfold, "I'm just wondering what you're up to."

She heard him chuckle lightly, and unfortunately wordlessly, while the small drumming on the steering wheel transgressed into a light hum.

            Strangely, Mimi recognized, the tune he hummed was not the latest song of their band, but an old lullaby.  It brought back memories of a carousal ride in New York she had ridden after she moved to America.  Not the exact tune, she relented, but the same classic melody, simple and beautiful.

The lullaby also reminded her of another gift Yamato had bought for her some months ago –a miniature music box with a tiny dancer spinning in the middle, illuminated by glowing lights.  She had seen it in the window and just about died over it –much to her surprise, he had led her into the store and purchased it for her.  It rested on her dresser beside other cherished things, photographs and souvenirs from gads of places she had visited in the eighteen years of her life.

            "We're here." Yamato stated as the car pulled into a park.  His door opened and shut, moments later followed by the click of the door handle.  He guided her from the seat and shut the door, leading into the night air.  She vaguely rubbed her arms, usually forgetting to bring a jacket during the summer.

They stopped, and Yamato jingled around with his keys before the familiar click of a door unlocking led them into a tiled area.  They walked for some time, and a gentle bell sounded, elevator doors shifting open.

            Yamato pulled her inside as the doors closed, buttons clicking and wires creaking as the elevator lurched to life.  Mimi smiled –they were at his house.  She had only been there a few times, since he usually preferred to go out, and she sighed a kind of relief at knowing this.  

The elevator stopped and he held her hand as they trod down a hall where, once more, Yamato searched for his keys.  But when he opened the door, it didn't smell like his house, the scent of curry and sauce, the vague mix of his cologne.  She frowned.

"Where are we?"

"You'll see."

They walked on, curiosity and caution building with every step.  The area lacked the cold outside had shown, but it was cool in here, and smelled familiar, but somewhat foreign as well.

            "Yamato…"

            "Just a little bit more, I promise."

            And as he had promised, they stopped shortly after.

            "Step up."  She stepped up, feeling as though they might ascend a flight of stairs, but their journey seemed to end there.

            "Wait here." He whispered, kissing her cheek as he fled in the other direction.  Mimi hugged herself, trying to see through her blindfold when a huge sound –the sound of lights, shuddered from above.  It happened once more, again and again, so much so that the brilliance dimly seeped through her blindfold, and her arms felt the heat of the glow.

            "Alright." He called distantly, "You can take off the blindfold."

She tugged lightly at the ribbon, her breath stealing away as she did.

            They were not at his house but at the Ginto Amphitheatre, where his band usually performed.  The stage had filled with a heavenly brilliance, full of hazy pink and blue and green.  Suddenly, it shifted and she found herself atop a small revolving stage, turning slowly and adorned with white Christmas lights.

As Mimi turned, she caught Yamato hanging in one of wings, his hands in his pockets with an embarrassed kind of smile.  Her head whipped around to keep her eyes on him as he looked around and shrugged, but she still could not bring herself to speak.

            "I lied for you, you know." He said softly, and Mimi noticed the faint hum of the carousal song playing in the speakers, "I'm supposed to be rehearsing."

He stopped just short of the revolving platform, and she continued to eye him wordlessly.

            "It took me a week to figure out the lighting system." He glanced up, "And the stage was just added.  The guys were so impressed they want to use it for the next show."

Again, he shrugged.

            "Happy birthday."

Mimi bit her lip, judging her step a second before she jumped into his embrace.  He caught her with a few steps backwards, smiling faintly as she buried into his shoulder.

            "What song is this?" She murmured.  And his response came in a dulcet whisper.

            "Sailing through a dream…to the rainbow's end.  You and I are always, always happy as can be…  And when the gray, tries to steal blue skies…please just smile, the rainbow's gold end is near…"

He pulled her back, looking straight into her eyes.

            "That is…" He murmured, searching, "you're the end of the rainbow."

Speechless again, caught by some ancient spell he learned to cast she only kissed him and he returned it.  And she felt she would overflow with love and warmth right then, kissing the sleeve of his jacket and sighing.

            "I hope you didn't bring cake." She whispered, "All my wishes have come true.  But…"

He blinked against her hair, "Mm?" then kissed it.

            "Dance with me."

And they danced because it was all they could or could not do, spinning on the carousel of light, in the haze of a golden glow, under the stars and the moon at the end of the rainbow.

  
Disclaimer: I don't own Digimon!

notes. 

hum…made up the lullaby lyrics…but the song I based it off of is by Yoko Kanno, called Music Box from the anime Brain Powerd.  Makes me fuzzy inside.


	5. REM

R.E.M.

"I'm dreaming of the cool side of the pillow."

"Hm?"

"The cool side of the pillow," she murmured fancifully, "you know? You know?'

He yawned, "Not really."

Her face, in the darkness, felt skeptical and disbelieving.

"Really?"

"Never thought about it."

"Mm."

She felt his eyelashes on her back, moving back and forth with thought.

"What's it like?" he asked eventually.

"The pillow? It's like…" she paused, "heaven."

"Heaven is the cool side of the pillow." Sarcastic laughter.

"How would you know anyway?"

She waited for an answer that did not come. Not at first, anyway. Then,

"Heaven…" He paused, the started again, "Heaven can't just be…one…thing, right?"

"Mine is." She yawned, "A pillow as…cool and vast as the ocean."

"Better than all the rest?" He attempted to fill her sentence, but she quickly interjected.

"No."

His expression felt amused on her shoulders.

"Oh? Why not?"

"Mine is good enough."

Silence.

"I don't understand you."

"I know." Small giggle. "Hm…what are you dreaming about?"

"You." Pause, "I'm dreaming about you…dreaming about the cool side of the pillow." Soft laughter. Soft sigh. Softer smile.

"I take it back." She yawned, "My heaven has two things."

"What's the second?"

She didn't answer. Not at first.

"Mimi? What's the second?"

"Hm?"

"The second thing in heaven?" He seemed impatient.

She sighed, tenderly, in the kitten voice she found herself using more and more often.

"Sometimes I forget, but…" Yawn. Sleep had almost persuaded her into its grasp. Her mouth had fixed in a lazy smile, her lashes rested content across the pillow. The air, both sweet and sharp, filled her mouth and his.

"…but I thought…you would have known, by now."

The contentment darkness offered grew ever deeper. Her remaining sensation before sleep overcame her was Yamato's hot, red face on her neck and his gentle mouth, unspoken kisses, forming upon her hair.

"Goodnight Mimi." He murmured.

But she was asleep, by then.

Disclaimer: I don't own Digimon. Unfortunately.

This one's like On Sleeping Together and Dream Life…kind of, more so the first than the second but…based on an actual conversation, alas, not had with a sexy man (much less one in bed).

--Artemis (visit my website, Paradisio it's on my author page) ((and leave a note there, if you have the time))


	6. Two Missing Pieces

Two Missing Pieces

"You shouldn't stand out in the rain."

He wore black and navy blue –he did not have an umbrella, he was soaked, and the intensity of it all –this combination of dark powers –made his eyes seem like two, bright circles of heaven.

What could she have said to that expression? She had thought about what to say when she saw him coming up to her, through the rain, on the shadowy night as she stood on Tanpopo Bridge. She came to see the lights of Rainbow Bridge for what she had worked up in the mind as the last time before she moved. But it had not been enough to stand on the sidewalk this time –she climbed clumsily onto the railing, her umbrella in one hand and the other, steady on a support beam. And then she saw him in the distance, the mild light of concern on his face, residual for deeper trepidation.

"What are you doing?" He inquired. And she answered,

"Standing on a bridge." with a hint of innocent sarcasm. He took it with such nonchalance she almost expected him to keep walking. But he didn't. He stood watching her, hands in his pockets.

Mimi felt inclined to speak.

"I wasn't going to jump."

"What if you had fallen?"

"I saw you coming, and I knew that if I fell, you'd catch me."

Yamato produced a ghostly smirk.

"Get down from there." He said, offering his hand in a slight, but welcoming gesture. She had wanted to stay, but the idea that he had asked her somehow overrode her own desire. Mimi attempted to drop her open umbrella onto the ground but the breeze, however gentle, took it over the bridge. With a brief glance of disdain, she took his hand and left the rail. The lights, somehow, were not as bright now.

He released her hand and slid down, his back pressed upon the bridge's stone wall. Mimi sat with the same gesture, close enough to feel the small ebb his cold and warm body gave off.

"Why were you here?"

"I don't know."

"Where you…" she hesitated, "where you going to jump?"

"What makes you say that?"

"Tanpopo Bridge is the jumping bridge. Everyone knows that."

Now he hesitated.

"Maybe."

Yamato slid off his jacket the moment he noticed she was shivering, and she took it without complaint. The glow of the streetlights illuminated his fair, now uncovered skin –Mimi stared at the long, diagonal cut across his forearm.

"Do you…cut yourself?" Her voice sounded frightened.

"Oh, that." He shook his head, "Accident. I was making sushi."

But her eyes now traveled what she could see on his skin, catching on a horizontal bruise near the back of his neck.

"And that?"

He quieted.

"That…" Yamato stopped, searching the ground, his hands, the street, "…that was real."

She waited for him to continue.

"Around three years ago, after we came back from the Digital World…I just got…really depressed." He shrugged.

"I don't…really want to…"

"Please." She touched his arm, tentatively.

"I…" He looked away, "I had this idea that I would be recycled, like a digimon I guess. That I would come back better, if I…died."

He paused,

"I tried to do it in the closet…but…I hadn't expected it to hurt so much and I struggled…the rope broke, and I got this." He didn't need to point to his neck to communicate.

"It'll go away eventually. But…you know-"

Mimi knew he had not looked at her when she curled beside him, laying her eyes across the bruise. Whether it was the rain, or her tears, the nape of his neck grew wet, and she shivered beside him as if he were the rain itself.

"I'm sorry." She whispered, "I would have caught you."

"I wouldn't have told you anyway." He said, equally quietly. There was a sudden hoarseness in his voice. A recent haircut had left his blonde mane short. Matted and straight, she could feel it pressed into her forehead also, the slight scent of shampoo, his warm, warm flesh blinding her senses from what was real, and what was not. But it was somehow safer there –they fit together like two missing pieces, still lost from the rest of the puzzle.

Yamato tentatively touched her hair.

"Don't jump." She whimpered.

"I won't jump." He answered back.

She sat back, stood back, climbed onto the railing –soaked –her fingers gripping the support beam once more. Then she offered her hand. He stared at it.

"They're so much more beautiful from here." She said.

Yamato touched her hand and stood, scaling the rail with –this frightened her –practiced ease. She continued to hold his hand and this Yamato seemed to understand.

I just don't want you to fall, Yamato.

They stared at the lights, together.

"It's funny." He glanced at her as she spoke. "Just how…everything fits. We fit together. Our hands. I think that we always did but…now, we've just found each other."

He didn't speak. It was as if he had changed in minutes. Seconds. Rebuilding himself within blinking eyes.

"It is more beautiful." He murmured, releasing her hand and jumping down, taking off quickly in the other direction. Alarmed she jumped down also.

"Yamato!"

He turned around, and called,

"But only if you're here, Mimi-chan…!" Then he disappeared around a corner, into the darkness.

Her heart throbbed deafeningly.

Are the lights the same, now? She asked herself, squinting towards Rainbow Bridge. They had dimmed, duller than she had never seen them, almost too faint to miss when she was gone.

I wonder why, she asked herself.

_It's more beautiful…but only if you're here._

Then she understood.

Disclaimer: I do not own Digimon!

…that was crap. I think I will shoot myself now. And it's apparently fourth grade reading level. A fourth-grade reading level rip-off of my own story. I can't handle this. I need some chocolate.

…

Visit my website! !


	7. Withdrawn, Faint and Yielding

Withdrawn, Faint and Yielding

"Taichi should be back soon." Yamato shaded his eyes from the prying summer sun, fixed in the direction where Taichi had disappeared some half-an-hour ago, "The gas station wasn't too far off, and he's got water. I think he'll be okay."

"I hope so. Otherwise we'll never get to the beach." Mimi tipped her head back against the van, honey brown hair falling in a splash of directions across its old, polished surface. She pushed her sunglasses up, and squinted at the sky. "It's so hot today…"

"Hey, sorry I didn't return your call last night."

"Oh, it's fine. I was just calling to wish you a happy belated birthday." She turned around, eyes against his in her playful manner, "Happy belated birthday, Yamato-kun."

He grinned.

"Thanks." Yamato leaned onto the van, the hot surface of it touching through his tee-shirt. Early August beat down on them, even with the small shade of the cliffs, making their clothes stick and their minds spin with delusions of the ocean water. Across the road, the Pacific spread out, blowing small waves of sea mist over their sticky bodies. Mimi came around the side of the van and leaned on Yamato, reveling in the balmy seaside breeze.

"Mm." She hummed, "I can't wait to get to the water."

They stood in comfortable silence, listening to the sweet roar of the ocean against the cliffs.

"So…" said Yamato, after a time, "how was…California?"

"Hot." Mimi giggled, "But wonderful. It was just like this everyday, and I could drive to the beach whenever I wanted. It was very cool."

"Yeah?" he grinned, striking his forearm against his brow, "How did he like it, um…Jaketsu…?"  
"Oh, Jacob? I don't really know. We split up as soon as we got there; I haven't talked to him in a while."

"Sorry."

"Don't be."

Mimi tipped through the open door of the van and flopped on the warm seat fabric.

"Was it you or Sora who warned me about him?"

"I don't remember. Maybe both of us." He chose to sit on the floor of the van, partially sheltered by a thin line of shade.

"I kind of thought he might have been _it_." Mimi was saying, "And then I remembered…I'm too young."

Yamato gave her a curious look, one she giggled at. Then she leaned on her knees, smiled, pushed her index finger into his forehead.

"Unlike some people. You're getting old." He rolled his eyes, half-scoffed, half-laughed. Mimi continued, toying with her hair in one hand and fanning herself with the other, "You need to date more, Yamato. There's always Jun…"

"Don't say that name…she might be around the corner or something." Mimi cackled with delight, clasping her fingers together.

"Does she still follow you everywhere?"

Yamato murmured something unintelligible that made her laugh even more. She laughed so hard her throat began to hurt, and her eyes watered. She even noticed Yamato's shoulders quivering with humor. When her laughter died down to a smile, and the ache in her abs ebbed away, she said,

"Maybe if you just give her a chance, she'll find out that you're really just a grumpy guy who's too cool for the wiles of true love and leave you alone." The 'true love' bit she hummed sweetly, to the tune of a song most likely sang by Miho Nakayama. Yamato uncovered his face and gave her a peculiar look, one which she smiled at, and shook his head.

"Music will always be my first wife. I don't really believe in it, anyway."

"Believe in what?"

"Love. True love."

Mimi seemed, for a small second, aghast. She quickly masked her surprise with a nonchalant, subtly imploring gaze.

"Why not?"

"I don't really know."

"If you can't give a reason," she quipped, "then you must be lying."

"It seems so…intangible." He reached his hand out and grasped at thin air, to prove his point. "It's like shooting for the moon."

"Don't be ridiculous. Have you ever been in love?"

He studied his hands.

"No. Have you?"

"Not yet." She said. Yamato repeated the same half-scoff, half-laugh as he had before. Now it was Mimi who gave him the peculiar look.

"What?"

"You're so…optimistic. I guess we're really different."

"You think so? Hm, okay. Answer truthfully, which is worse? Nothing but a cynic or nothing but a dreamer?"

Yamato thought for a second.

"Cynic."

"Same. Which tastes better? Dango or takoyaki?"

"Takoyaki."

"Same. Which is more fun? Okinawa or Hokkaido?"

"Okinawa."

"Same! See, we're not that different."

Yamato chuckled quietly.

"I wonder about you, Tachikawa."

They stared at each other, smiling. Watching. Absorbing. It was as if the moment had caught them, one in each hand; neither wanted to speak, nor knew how. Neither knew how to breath, nor wanted to. Mimi felt something prickling inside of her stomach. But she wouldn't let go. Or more importantly, she didn't want to.

"I'll make you fall in love, somehow." she said.

"Oh yeah?"

"Yes!" she protested, "With someone. Even…"

She stopped.

Yamato blinked. Before he could say anything, she continued in a different direction, as if she'd changed her mind completely.

"Hey, I bet it's cooler over there." She jumped out of the van and trotted across the highway road, to where bits of sand settled over the rocks beneath a short metal divider, and the cliff face dropped into the sea.

"Hey, it is!"

"Don't cross the street so casually!" Yamato yelled, "It's a blind turn! What if there was a car coming?" He clambered out of the car and, checking carefully for oncoming traffic, ran across the street. But Mimi was right; it was much cooler on that side of the road.

He said, quieter,

"What were you going to say?"

"Hm?"

"Just now. What were you going to say? Even…?"

She smiled strangely.

"It's nothing."

"No, tell me."

"Even…" She shrugged, finding points away from him to fix her attention on, "Even if it was…with…me."

She tried to laugh it off. But Yamato, for a second at least, could not play along. His pulse raced wildly through his skin. He grew hot, although the sun had moved overhead, out of sight of them, and the ocean breeze smoothed over their skin like a cool, lucid blanket. Then, just as quickly, he shrugged and started back across the street, ignoring his own lecture just seconds before.

"I'd be too old for you." he said.

Mimi crinkled her nose, following him.

"By a year?"

"And you're too optimistic."

"You're just too gloomy."

"I don't think you're second wife material."

"Well, I'd never settle for second wife." said Mimi, admitting that with ease, "But…"

"And plus…" Yamato reached the van, taking the spot where she had been and relaxing across the seat, "you're too forward."

In one quick instant, Mimi pitched forward and grabbed his wrist, tugging him upward quickly, too quickly, until their faces were very close together.

"Am not!" She protested.

Then she blushed and dropped her hands.

"Anyway, I'll make you fall in love somehow."

"I lied. So don't worry about it." he said smoothly. Mimi spun around.

"What?"

"I lied."

"When?" She found herself getting excited, "Who was it?"

"A few years ago."

"But with who?"

Yamato sat up again, meeting her eyes in a quiet way, a way she recalled subtly from childhood. A flickering, fleeting blue; withdrawn, faint, yielding. Today, today…each day, I have waited for you. Something he had quoted for her, just a few years ago, with those same eyes. That same deafening silence. That same pull in her stomach, like butterflies to sweet and powerful flowers. Natural attraction; it was almost irresistible.

"I can…" She felt arrested, as if his attention were throttling her by the throat, "…keep a secret."

He appeared on the verge of saying something when his mouth suddenly closed, and he peeked out of the car. Taichi waved a hand from the distance, the other holding an old gas can.

"Pack up! Everyone else will already be there!" He cried faintly. Yamato clambered into the driver's seat wordlessly. Mimi stalled, then settled on the passenger's side. She watched him while he strapped on his seatbelt, sifting for the keys in his pockets. Then she tentatively touched his hand.

Yamato looked at her.

"I lied too." She said, keeping her eyes on her free hand, "I'm bad at keeping secrets."

She looked desperate, as though she might cry. He smirked.

"You really are too forward." He fixed his eyes on the road ahead. But he didn't let go, either.

Disclaimer. I don't own Digimon (thank god. otherwise, it'd all be romantic mush.)

Hm, anyway. I have to wait until my writing improves before I can finish Boys Before Flowers; there's two parts left, instead of just one. But on another note, notice how Yamato almost always has the last word… Sorry for this one. Not up to caliber (what caliber?) it's too long, long-winded and I went off about Yama's eyes again. Plus, I was too lazy to fix it. But I felt like writing so…

…

Please don't disown me. I promise I'll improve.

Artemis

(P.S. 'today, today each day I have waited for you' was a quote from the Manyoshu, a collection of ancient Japanese poetry. It also made an appearance in Blue Submarine No. 6...so yeah).


	8. Pas de Deux

Pas de Deux

When he thinks of her, he thinks of how ridiculous she is. How of all the colors in the world, he hates pink the most. He thinks she is tone deaf, and sometimes she is. He hates that she speaks to Takeru so freely when all there is between them is strangled conversation.

He thinks he prefers girls with dark hair and dark eyes that do not wear lipstick. The girls he likes do not cry or whine and are not afraid of the dark. They do not sing western pop songs late at night to block out the sound of his harmonica or fail to stay awake during their watch. Neither spoiled nor vain, a stain on their clothing is not the end of the world, and there is more to their lives than cellphones and shopping malls.

He thinks the numemon are crazy to follow her around day in and day out. It makes his skin burn when he sees Jyou or Koushirou staring at her turned back. He thinks her beauty is overrated: her skin is too fair, her eyes are too big, her mouth is too pink. He hates that she is one of the prettiest girls he has ever seen. He thinks that a girl so pretty does not think about much else, and sometimes he is right. He hates that, for all the days they go without baths, the air around her still smells like strawberry.

He hates that she disturbs his logic with her silly words and thoughts. He doesn't speak to her because he is afraid it's contagious and when he has to, he speaks as quickly as possible. He's just as quick to defend her as he is to put her down. He hates that for every silly thing she says, he remembers it longer than he should. He hates the spell of her voice just as much as he hates her dress. He thinks the sound of her voice is annoying and knows he is crazy to like it.

When he thinks of her, he thinks of how ridiculous she is. And how ridiculous it is that the more time goes on, the more he wants to hold her hand. The more he wants to hear her sing her little songs, to pout when she cannot have her way, to hide behind him when danger is near. He thinks this is a phase, something understandable but that he does not understand. He hates himself for not understanding. He thinks this, but deep down, he does not want to know why.

When she thinks of him, she thinks of how ridiculous he is. She can see right through that tough guy act; she hates when boys are like that. She thinks he is just as afraid as everyone else, and sometimes he is. She likes when he plays harmonica, but never seems to know any of his songs.

She thinks she likes his type: exotic and enigmatic, like a foreign movie star or a musician. But the boys she likes do not snap at her or roll their eyes at her suggestions. They respond when she tries to make conversation and appreciate the effort it takes to look nice everyday. They are not aloof or rude, they try to get along with others and are nice to girls. There is more to their lives than harmonicas and hair gel.

She hates that she can never seem to get his attention. She speaks to his little brother about it discreetly in hopes of knowing him better, but no one seems to know him at all. She feels sorry about his childhood and wants to ask him about it, but he rebuffs everything she says. She thinks he is an iceberg, and sometimes she is right. She hates that Sora can speak to him so freely, when all they have between them is strangled conversation.

She wonders why he wears green when blue would suit him so much better. She wonders why for all the days they go without baths, he still smells soapy and clean. She thinks of how his hands would feel: are they warm or cold? Are they soft or rough? And late at night, she wonders about his mouth, and what being his harmonica must feel like.

When she thinks of him, she thinks of how ridiculous he is. But he is only ridiculous sometimes and other times, he seems too exciting to be real. She wants to hold his hand, to listen to him laugh, to hide behind him when danger is near. She knows this is just a phase and that if anything, friendship is all she can ever hope for, which suits her fine. She thinks this, but deep down, she wants him to save her.

Disclaimer. I don't own Digimon.

Pas de Deux is a French ballet term meaning "two step" or "step for two people".

The style of this vignette was heavily, heavily influenced by Elementary Magpie author of Pas de Trois (which I realized after I'd settled on a name for this). Although Pas de Trois and Pas de Trois II are Samurai Champloo fanfics, the narrative is incredible and ought to be read. As to why I'm writing like this, I think I'm in the middle of an identity crisis and possibly on the verge of change. Egh, it happens. Unfortunately, it's happening to me. Anyway…


	9. Unbound Hair

unbound hair

As if she is Canaan, hair falls across her shoulders like rivers sweet with milk and honey. He watches as she unties it carefully, weighing the thick bunch in her hand, briefly, turning it this way and that, before release. Paradise falling. Watching it drop down the back of her pink dress, slower in his mind than in reality, is like watching water spill from a glass. Peaceful with an incoherent sense of dread. It's just water, you think, but you still want to catch it.

She combs through it with her fingers, humming a little song to herself that he thinks he played for her, once. He watches, consumed as she casually examines the ends of her hair, the corners of her mouth lilting with mild concern, what she wouldn't give for a nice conditioner. Her reflection, as he imagines it, blinks back with golden eyes. The mouth smiles coquette, she purses her lips and wonders how she will look in five years. And maybe it's these little things she still does, all the little things, that he's so jealous of, watching her there.

"Ishida-kun," She turns to him suddenly, and he fights the urge to run away. Her cheeks flower pink, "I didn't see you there."

"I was just looking for water."

He steps back, away, towards the invisible others on the path behind him. The weight of Tachikawa's stare slows him; she twists her hair, twisting his stomach in peculiar emotions with every flick of her fingers.

"I thought someone was staring." Her mouth smiles but her eyes are wide, "You surprised me."

"Sorry." He says shortly.

Then she turns her back to him, pushing the longest of strands over her shoulder. And says, as if on an afterthought,

"You always surprise me." The tone of her voice sends an illicit shiver up his spine; the way she said it, so unaware of her own feminine prowess. The lilt of her voice, so like her and very, very unlike her. This is the "moment" between them, sneaking up unexpectedly, caught struggling in his gloved hand.

But in the end, Yamato has nothing to say to this.

He takes another step back, lowers his eyes, disappears back towards camp leaving Tachikawa and her milk-and-honey hair and her sweet voice and bold eyes behind him.

Better never to wonder, he thinks.

When he returns to camp, Taichi asks him why his face is red. He tells him, with perhaps less barb than expected, to mind his own business.

Disclaimer. I don't own Digimon. But wouldn't it be sweet if I did?

I've been kind of obsessed with this "Yamato and Mimi and their young, undeveloped emotions" thing for a while. It's sweet, I think. I've been meaning to write some takari, but with my new Creative Writing classes holding precedence over my all my fun, it's difficult and I'm uninspired. So if anyone has some suggestions, that would be cool. Oh, and thanks for reading.

Cheers.

Artemis


	10. The Sound of Wings

the sound of wings

Sometimes, she dreams they are heroes in a love story. There are shamisen and high-pitched flutes, a brilliant air lilting melodically against cicadas in summertime. She spies him across an endless river of light and feels his attention burning back at her.

Suddenly, a thousand birds descend in the sound of wings. And like a great gust from heaven, as if she is a flute's song, they lift her over the glowing waters of the river to be with him again.

It has been so long, my love, she says.

And they hold each other, never intending to let go.

It is a blissful love story, and also tragic. For the same wind, that benevolent bridge of magpies which, hours before united them with such tenderness, now tides her, bears her away for another year, to the other side of heaven.

In vain, she reaches towards him. He is but a distant figure, illuminated dimly by daybreak.

Sometimes in half-dreaming, she retells the story with her sleepy romance and her endless sighs. He never admits to understanding, smiles, makes his sly remarks, pretends to sleep.

But in the evening as she dreams out at the stars, she finds a paper magpie on the windowsill, such a delicate thing, folded by his fingertips.

In a year, they will be together again. She blushes. So much does she love him.

Disclaimer: I don't pretend to own Digimon.

7 July is Tanabata, the Japanese holiday of Chinese origin commemorating the reunion of Orihime (Vega) and Hikoboshi or Kengyuu (Altair) across the Milky Way. It's actually a rather romantic story, one which I am in no mood to account. Suffice it to say, it's worth looking into should you have time during the summer, like me.


	11. Anatomy

Anatomy

Her bare body in the evening light is a vessel of bones and blood that he cannot see, but that he feels intermingling underneath beneath him when he holds her against his skin. When he makes love to her, he makes love to all the beautiful cells in her body, the countless millions of proteins and mitochondria twisted there, crackling with their own energy. He has her down to a science; the degrees in her arced spine, how his stomach kisses hers, the tender, almost artistic friction.

And afterwards: if only he was a blood cell, lost in the anonymity of her face, a constant part of her, however short-lived. Or sometimes, watching her sleeping back, he wishes he was a bone.

**Disclaimer:** No, I don't own Digimon. But that would be pretty sweet.

The theme was "biochemistry as an art for aliens". This story is #14 of thirty vignettes that I'm writing from a November prompt list. I haven't finished all of them yet; still working! But I wanted to post something since it looked lonely and neglected underneath the other story.

I'll post some more once I've done the second revision. You're thinking: Wait, she revised this? Hard times, people, hard times. --Artemis


	12. Three Stories

Three Stories

One.

His:

1) She slips her tongue through her teeth, around the inside curve of her lips, to adjust her lip gloss.

2) Her last sleeping breath before awakening.

3) The second syllable of his name on her voice, MA, which strikes a chord somewhere from his childhood.

Hers:

1) Dark eyelashes splayed against his cheek, like paper fans masking demure eyes.

2) Those spidery fingers.

3) Once, before she knew him, his sideways glance stopped her words. It made her stomach grow inside of her; she thought she had swallowed a cloud.

Theirs:

1) Knotted arms, like hair, one too tired to untangle them, the other too tired to notice.

2) Love, or its other names.

3) Sometimes, it is hard to tell whether they are two people combined, or one person on the brink of separation. Brown-blue eyes, mixed skin, it is not so easy to distinguish the lines between them.

* * *

Two 

It is crowded on the streets of Ginza –people weave through people and through other people again, some grand fabrication of humanity where she realizes she is only one insignificant thread.

But—

The slip of his hand over hers, like rough silk, distinguishes her. More than anything in this moment, she loves his gentle pull from the crowd, a needle with its own agenda, the light of his eyes close to her own as he finds a space for them where none existed. Her heart races, his small smile blinds, his voice deafens,

I thought I'd lost you.

* * *

Three. 

"It won't be the same," there is a hint of bite to his words, "if you stand over my shoulder while I'm writing it."

Mimi frowns distinctly. "Should it matter?"

He turns in his chair to face her with an exasperated look.

"I already agreed to write the stupid thing; can you at least let me do it at my own pace?"

If possible, her frown deepens. Or maybe it's her eyes that shrink.

"Fine." She says, stomps to the opposite side of the room, flops rebelliously on the couch. "And if it's so stupid, why are you even bothering?"

He rolls his eyes and she sticks her tongue out at him in return, then buries her face in a throw pillow. He watches her for a few extra seconds, debating on whether he should apologize, but then she kicks her feet in a little tantrum and he turns back to the blank page, resigned.

From the corner of his eye, he spies her glance up, slyly, then slam her face back down.

Minutes of silence pass, then,

"You haven't written anything yet."

He kicks himself away from the table.

"You're impossible!" He snaps.

She sits up on her hands, "You're being stubborn! Why can't you just do something romantic for once?"

He seems on the verge of retort but stops himself. Instead, glaring vehemently, Yamato scribbles something on the page. Then he throws down the pen and makes for the door.

"I'm late." He pushes on his shoes and hoists his bass over his shoulder. "I'll call tonight."

Then he shuts the door behind him.

Mimi, who had been glaring this entire time, now throws the pillow on the floor. She marches to the door and locks it violently, then slams herself down at the table.

The paper seems intent on matching her vehemence. Finally, with an irritated, conciliatory murmur, she drags it across the table.

True to her original suspicion, it is mostly blank. On the very bottom of the page is his sharp, familiar handwriting. Four words exactly: there sings no bird

It takes her a second to translate then, after a long irritating moment, she delicately crumples the paper and leaves it on the table.

She is still mad when hours later, and refuses to answer the phone when he does calls that evening. She even stays purposefully asleep when he returns to her apartment –she hears his presence lingering at the door, and makes no sound at all when he whispers, "I'm going home, but I'll see you on Sunday."

The next morning, she awakes in a mood to be reckoned with and storms into the kitchen. On the table, she sees that the would have been letter lies ever so slightly uncrumpled next to an empty coffee cup. Curiosity ultimately trumping her pride, she allows herself a small glance at the four lonely words on the bottom of the page. But –her heart gives a hysterical leap –they are accompanied now by new words. She sits and stares intently.

There sings no bird but calls your name to me

Each memory that has left its trace with me

Lingers forever as a part of me.

And in tiny letters, more tiny than his small writing even, are five more words: Is this what you wanted? She covers her mouth to keep from crying.

When he walks through the door on Sunday afternoon, she kisses him a million times. And tells him, with mild amusement, that he'll never have to write her a letter again.

Disclaimer: I don't own Digimon.

Three more vignettes from my theme list. The theme of the first is "a series of unlikely but significant events"; the second theme is "lost in the crush of anonymity"; the last is "dear love, I've never had to write a letter like this".

Ginza is an expensive district in Tokyo, where rich fashionable people do rich and fashionable things.

The words that Yama wrote in the letter are from the Eric Clapton song "I Am Yours" off the album "Layla and Other Assorted Love Songs". I'm assuming Mimi knew this, or maybe she didn't. Oh well.

One of those impulsive posts that come every so often, hence the lack of grammatical correction. But I hope you enjoyed them anyway.

--Artemis


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